


Cry of Atlas

by madamoiselle_sica



Series: Sica's FGWE 2020 [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Day 3, Fair Game Weekend (RWBY), Fantasy AU, James dad, M/M, Multi, Ozpin dad, RWBY au, RWBY verse in fantasy viking style au, This is just the beginning of a an epic story, Young Clover, Young Qrow, fairgameweekend2020, later inclusion of STR, the gaggle of kids are not in this one - yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26824672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamoiselle_sica/pseuds/madamoiselle_sica
Summary: A young Clover is prince of Atlas and heir to the throne. His father, King James is a strong and well liked King. But he has never seen the creatures form the Lands of Ghosts as potential allies, until now, thanks to Clover's intuition. He also happens to meet a young Warlock who doesn't know his value just yet.A RWBY Fantasy AU in the story, 'Cry of the Icemark'
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Sica's FGWE 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951564
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Cry of Atlas

**Author's Note:**

> Having not done a story book AU (alternate universe) before, this is an experience that I find challenging in all of the other ways than finding and writing a plot for my own stories. In this case I have a full fledged story and plot. The biggest problem is finding a balance between what the author has given me and what I keep, change or adapt, so that I can keep the feeling of the story but not feel like I am blatantly plagiarizing the original author.
> 
> So I decided to keep a majority of the dialogue from the original story the same, with names adapted, and a some additional lines added or adjusted for character personalities. And I tried to trim out as much of the extra details and style that the original author had and find a simple way to say it without the poetry that it had but not lose the foundation of the story. As well as add in as much of the RWBY universe without changing too much of the story. It is important to me that you, the reader, at least have an idea of where they are and what the world is like, without feeling like you are reading the whole book in a slightly adjusted form.
> 
> That said, a number of the first few chapters were kept with limited changes, as it sets up the story and the scene of the world that this takes place within, while later chapters include more variation, deleted scenes and added scenes not in the original story. 
> 
> Also, some of the names were also way too fitting, such as Strong-in-the-Arm for Clover and James. Wildcat and Bear also fit a little too well to change them. And trying to find a different family name besides Lindensheild was tedious, so I left it. I thought about changing it to Atlas and felt that changing the kingdom name to Atlas would be redundant. I took a lot of liberty with ages. 
> 
> I respect the hell out of Stuart Hill, because these stories in the Chronicles of the Icemark are amazing and I want to do it justice without feeling like I am just blatantly copying and replacing character names to call as my own. So hopefully I have found a nice happy medium that everyone can enjoy.

Clover Ebi Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, the seventeen years old heir to the throne of Atlas. His tutor, Pietro, would have described him as attentive when he wanted to be, clever when he bothered to try, a brat when he found it entertaining and occasionally shared his father’s temper. Few people compared him to his mother, who had died when Clover was born. But those who remembered the proud young woman of the fierce Argus people said that Clover was her double. 

Clover was out hunting today with a single soldier escort for protection, not that he needed protecting. But as was the case with royalty, none of them were permitted to go alone anywhere, nevertheless the dense forest, where all sorts of creatures and dangerous animals live. Clover, however, was happy to have some company, just in case. They’d been hunting in the forest since dawn and his escort was getting tired, but Clover didn’t want to go home. Instead they were following a set of tracks he insisted were werewolf prints. 

Werewolves had been banished from Atlas after the Ghost Wars, in which Clover’s father, King James, had defeated the army of the Vampire King and Queen at the Battle of the Wolfrocks. The werewolf he was tracking was most likely a loner in search of easy hunting within their borders. With any luck, which was usually in his favor, he could capture it and take it back to the city as a prize. And before it was executed, it could be made to give useful information about The-Land-of-the-Ghosts.

“Listen!” Clover said urgently. “Just ahead — I can hear snarling!”

“Pull in behind me,” the soldier said, preparing her shield and spear, forgetting all formality. 

Almost instantly a huge animal leaped out from the thick undergrowth. An extremely hairy human shaped figure stared at them for a moment, its eyes full of hate, and its face a strange mixture of wolf and human. Then it charged, easily dodging the soldier and headed straight for Clover. But his battle-trained horse leaped forward to meet the attack. 

The werewolf took the kick at full force and only staggered back for a moment before growling and attacking again. By this time, Clover had drawn his weapon and wheeled his horse around, leaned from the saddle, and struck his saber, Kingfisher, deeply into the werewolf’s arm. The soldier guard had recovered at this point and she charged, knocking the werewolf off its feet. 

The creature retreated into the thick undergrowth where the horses couldn’t follow. And for a moment, it seemed to have gotten away, but then it reemerged from the thorny bush and threw itself at Clover’s horse, knocking him from the saddle. His horse fled in terror and he lay on the ground dazed and winded, as he began to feel like he was watching everything that happened next from outside his body. He was aware that there was danger of some sort, but couldn’t quite remember what, as he watched the soldier on horseback attack a huge wolfman. But the creature broke the soldier’s spear and the soldier’s horse reared and galloped away as the soldier clung on for dear life. Then the wolfman turned back and walked slowly toward him.

At this point, reality came crashing back to him, as he started to remember where he was. The werewolf was approaching slowly, with a grin on its face, at least from what he could tell. Clover grabbed Kingfishers and leaped to his feet. The creature stopped and bared his enormous teeth. Clover shouted the war cry of Atlas and charged forward.

Before it could react, Clover’s blade bit deeply into its shoulder and it fell back. But then his boots slipped on wet leaves causing him to fall and immediately the creature pounced and tossed Kingfisher aside. This surprised him, and wondered if he had run out of luck or maybe just didn’t have a grasp on his semblance yet. Then the sat on him, crushing the breath out of his lungs. Clover wasn’t out of the fight yet and as the creature lowered its jaws toward his throat, he punched it hard on the nose. The werewolf shook its head and sneezed.

“Make it quick, wolfman, and make sure all the wounds are in front. I don’t want anyone saying I died running away,” he yelled, managing to keep the fear out of his voice.

The creature lowered its head toward him again, but this time its eyes were filled with an almost human expression of confusion. It stayed like that for nearly a minute, scrutinizing him. Then it threw back its head and howled, its voice climbing to a high chilling note before ending abruptly. It looked at him again, then it quickly jumped away from him, leaving him gasping for breath.

Slowly Clover sat up and watched as the werewolf picked up Kingfisher and stabbed into the ground. Then it did something that surprised him. The huge creature turned and bowed, folding one of its arms across its torso while the other swept out before it in an elegant fashion. Despite everything he had just been through, Clover almost laughed at this behavior. The werewolf threw back its head again and a rough coughing and growling noise came from its mouth, as though it were laughing. Then it ran off through the trees.

Clover climbed to his feet and collected his sword. He was trembling with shock.  _ Why didn’t the werewolf kill me? Could such creatures think and make decisions? And if so, did this one actually decide to let me live? _

He was befuddled. Everything he’d ever been told and all of his beliefs and ideas about the Wolf-folk were now in doubt by this one experience. He’d always thought they were mindless killers, like so many other primitive and evil creatures from beyond Atlas’s northern borders, and yet the wolfman had shown … compassion? Was everything that he had been taught about them wrong?

His soldier escort came back with a furry, ready to defend him, but clearly the fight was over. Clover then had to endure almost ten minutes of her checking him over for injuries. Shortly after, Clover’s horse returned as well.

“Some help you were,” Clover said grumpily. “I should have let the wolfman have you.”

* * *

They took the most direct route home and eventually the dense forest opened up into small clearing, then the trees gave way to the wide plain that surrounded Solitas, the capital of Atlas. The land was a patchwork of fields, orchards and gardens. All of it green during the country’s short summer. However their destination was directly ahead, as the city stood towering above the surrounding farmland.

Each of its massive gates faced the direction of each of the four winds, and over the south gate hung the huge bronze Solstice Bell. At the center of the settlement, he could see his father’s fortress, its position high on the hill. Soon he and his soldier escort were riding through the gates of the city and up the main street. It was market day so there were a lot of people along the streets. 

“Make way for the Prince!” his escort shouted and used his horse to force people aside. Some of the country folk who rarely came to the city, starred as Clover rode by. Some even pressed forward to touch the hem of his tunic or his riding boots, as if he were a magical relic of some sort.

“It’s the Prince! It’s the Prince!” The whisper ran ahead of him through the crowd. All of this embarrassed him and he immediately unslung his shield and rode along hiding behind it as much as possible.

After leaving his horse, he strode into the Great Hall of the fortress. At the far end of the hall, there was a raised dais, where a throne of black oak stood. And above it hung the battle standard of Atlas: a standing polar bear, lips drawn back in a vicious snarl and claws outstretched. 

Nobody was sitting on the throne, and when Clover reached the dais, he quickly walked behind it and ducked his head to enter a low doorway. Beyond it lay a small, cozy room where King James Ironwood Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, mighty warrior and wise monarch. He was leaning back in a chair stuffed with plump cushions and his eyes were closed. But Clover knew he was awake because he wasn’t snoring and a small, wizened man, Vine, had just finished his move in a game of chess.

The King noticed his son as he walked in. “Ah, Clover! Come in, come in!” James boomed. The King only ever seemed to bellow, boom, or shout, regardless of his mood and he never had to repeat himself because of it. Clover then watched as a small black and white head appeared on the far side of the King and blinked at him.

“Ah, Zwei, there you are!” the King cried, grabbing the small corgi in his huge hands.

“Father, I have some important news,”

“Well, it must be important, Vine,” King James said to the old man, “he only ever calls me ‘Father’ when he’s done something wrong or a disaster is at hand.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong, Father.”

“Then what’s happened?”

“I fought a werewolf in the forest this morning.”

“A werewolf, eh? You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked, grabbing his arms and looking him over closely. “Well, we can’t have the Wolf-folk making themselves at home, now can we? Exactly where did you see it? And did you kill it?”

“Just beyond Peninsula Point, near the Black Peak, and no, I didn’t kill it. It was only wounded in its left shoulder and upper arm.”

“Nothing to a werewolf. I’ll have to send out a patrol.”

“Yes!” Clover agreed, looking up. “But first I want to ask you something.” he paused as he gathered his thoughts. “Can … can werewolves feel and think? I mean like people do. And can they … understand that we have … oh, I don’t know, thoughts and feelings?” He continued to think through the possibility that the Wolf-folk were thinking, even feeling, creatures, despite all of his teachings so far.

James spent most of his life fighting the Wolf-folk and other creatures from beyond his northern borders. He'd never considered if they thought about anything. “Why do you ask? What’s happened?”

“The werewolf could have killed me today, but it didn’t. It disarmed me and could have ripped out my throat. But when I punched it in the nose and told it to make it quick, it stopped and let me go. And I don’t understand why. If Wolf-folk can’t feel and think, why did it let me live?”

James didn’t know and felt a sense of relief sweep over him, as he suddenly gathered his son into a big hug. “You will not take such risks again! Do you hear me?” he roared, his anger brought on by the terrible fear that his son could have been killed.

“But, Dad, I didn’t take any risks. Werewolves don’t usually come into the forest. How could I have known it was going to be there?” Clover left out the detail that he had chosen to track the prints that they had found in the woods that lead them to the creature.

James released him from the hug. “I’ll send out a full patrol immediately.”

“And I will lead it.”

“Oh no you won’t. My son and heir will stay safely here in the castle. Let some other hotheads earn their ranks.”

“But they’ll need me to guide them to the right spot. Nobody else knows the way.”

“Apart from your soldier escort.”

Clover sighed in defeat. “Apart from my soldier escort.”

“Good!” James looked at Vine. “Vine, call in the captain of the guard.” James turned to look back at Clover. “You can give her details and then run along to your tutor. Geography today, if I’m not mistaken.”

Vine called for the guard nearby, who retrieved the Captain immediately.

“Captain Harriet. The Prince reports a werewolf close to the city. Take details and send out a patrol!” the King boomed, stroking Zwei gently. Then Clover and the captain withdrew to confer.

* * *

Clover was furious. He should have led the patrol to find the werewolf, not that dolt of a soldier! And not only that, but the patrol would probably kill the werewolf as soon as they found it, and he wasn’t sure that the creature should meet its end, considering it had spared him. He stormed along, angrily, through the corridor to his tutor’s room.

Arriving at his tutor’s door, he punched it and violently burst in. Pietro Polendina was drinking a glass of water, most of which he spilled at Clover’s forceful entrance. The look of Clover’s angry eyes stopped him from saying anything about using proper manners for a prince. So instead he smiled and waved him over to sit next to the window. 

“Perhaps his Majesty would be more comfortable in a tunic rather than chain mail?” he asked.

“No!” But he decided to remove his sword belt and hung it on the back of his chair. It was Pietro Polendina’s job to make sure he was as well educated as the heir to Atlas throne should be. Clover was one of the cleverest pupils he ever taught. Deep down he harbored the hope that that one day Atlas would be ruled by a scholar as well as a fighter. 

* * *

That evening, James held one of his State banquets. All of the barons and baronesses could expect to be called to the capital of Solitas to eat with the King at least three times a year. Eating and drinking were actually less important than the real business of keeping a close watch on any of the aristocrats who might become overambitious. James was a very popular king. He wasn’t too overbearing, and more important he was a proven general. Not only had he defeated the Vampire King and Queen of The-Land-of-the-Ghosts but he’d also beaten off many pirate raids along the shores of Atlas.

Baroness Willow, an old woman with long braids and small twinkling eyes, leaned across the table toward him. “I hear the Prince met a wolfman recently,” she said.

“Yes, only this morning. I wounded it in the shoulder and eventually it ran off.”

The Baroness turned to the King. “I think The-Land-of-the-Ghosts may need to be watched, James.”

The King shrugged. “Yes, yes, I suppose. But none of the watchers on the border have reported anything wrong.” And after considering the situation for a few more moments. “I’ll strengthen the border garrisons and send out more spies. That should be enough for the time being.”

“As long as you don’t weaken the southern defenses to do it,” the old Baroness said. “I trust the Polypontus and its Empire about as much as I do the Vampire King and Queen. I suspect General Cinder Fall has an ambition to add Atlas to her conquests.”

James laughed. “You worry too much, Willow! Fall has an ambition to add everybody to her conquests, and at the moment she’s busy in the south. So stop fretting and have a drink.”

“I think the Baroness is right,” Clover said, as this had been a problem he’d been thinking about for some time. “If we watch one border too closely, we put the others at risk. We need more allies.”

“Very true. But we’re isolated up here in our northern lands. To the south is the Empire of the Polypontus and to the north of us we have The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. We’re not exactly spoiled for choice, are we?” James added.

“No, but sometimes friends can be found in the unlikeliest of places,” said Clover, thinking about the wolfman and how it had looked at him before it finally let him go.

The King looked at his son and smiled. “You’re right. Perhaps we should start looking as soon as we can.” Then he sat back in his seat, stretched luxuriously, and rested his feet on the table. He reached inside the stiffly embroidered collar of his robes and gently drew out Zwei, the royal puppy, and placed him on his stomach. “Vine!” he bellowed. “Vine, where are you?!” Clearly he was looking for food to feed Zwei.

At this point, Clover knew there was little else that his father needed from him and vice versa, so he decided to join the housecarls. He leaped off the royal dais and made his way toward the sound of throwing axes. Here he didn’t have to be polite or careful of her language. He was treated almost like the other young warriors, although his status was always carefully acknowledged. A great shout went up: “The Prince is going to throw!” One of the warriors respectfully placed one of the smaller throwing axes in his hand.

“Give me something of a proper size,” he demanded indignantly, and nodded as a full-sized battle-ax was passed to him.

With a quick flick of his rabbits’ foot and a great deal of effort, he hefted the ax, took aim, drew back, and hurled with such force he fell to his knees. When he looked back up at the target, he saw the apple neatly split in two at the foot of the throwing board. Laughing, he accepted the cheers of the housecarls and allowed himself to be carried around the tables.

Then something drew his eyes to the huge doors just as they burst open. The hall fell silent, and Clover breathed deep at the blast of air. He could see a group of soldiers marching through the doorway, dragging a shaggy figure between them.

“Put me down,” Clover ordered. He cut through the crowds to reach the upper table as the soldiers arrived. It was then that he saw the werewolf they were dragging between them. Its wrists were tied with thick ropes to a pole that lay across its shoulders, and it was surrounded by a circle of spears, as a dozen guards aimed their weapons at the creature.

“My Lord, we bring the intruder from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts for sentencing.”

“You should have killed it in the field! Waste of effort bringing it here.” He stroked Zwei gently in his lap. “And you’ll get blood all over the floor!”

Clover stepped forward. “I claim the right of sentencing!” he shouted. The werewolf turned to look at him.

“You! Why?” James demanded.

“Because I first drew its blood. Its life, according to our laws, is mine.”

James considered this for a moment. “You’re right. How do you want it killed?”

Clover smiled as the King relented and he flicked his rabbits foot and smiled. “I don’t want it killed. I want to escort it to the border and set it free.” This brought on a grumble of protests.

“What?” the King roared. “It’s a monster, a freak from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. The world will be a better place without it. Just string it up and slice it open and then let’s get on with the party.”

Clover waited for a moment and then kneeled in supplication. “My Lord James Ironwood Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, Guardian of the People, grant your son, your only child and heir to Atlas throne, this boon and favor. I would lead the escort to the border and there release the creature to live and tell of this night’s doings.”

James’s eyes narrowed as Clover had adopted the ceremonial language of the court. He was sometimes too much like his mother, who had been very clever in her solutions to problems. And she and Clover had never used his intelligence for bad purposes.

“If I’m to grant you this favor, I must first know why you want the werewolf to live.”

“Because of what we were speaking about earlier. You know that not even the shield-walls of all your housecarls nor the thundering hooves of all your cavalry will be enough to keep out our enemies if they all decide to attack at once. Even if Cinder Fall and the Polypontian Empire attacked alone with none of our other enemies in support, we could never hold them. You yourself have said that the Imperial armies are unstoppable. Put simply, we need allies.”

“Ha, and you think the Wolf-folk would make good friends? That one mangy werewolf will bring about an alliance?”

“Yes. Look at his neck, Father. He wears the brass collar of a wolfman chief. He’s no ordinary werewolf.”

Then there was a deep growling voice. “I wear the gold collar of the Wolf-folk King. Don’t underestimate your prisoner!” A shocked silence followed. Few people knew the wolf-people could speak, let alone use words with intelligence and pride.

James looked surprised. “Then you’re an ideal hostage for peace.”

“No, Father! The wolfman is mine!”

“My son wants to set you free. Would you promise to be an ally of Atlas if he gets his way?”

“I promise,” the deep voice growled.

“And your people?”

“And my people.”

“How do we know we can trust you?”

A strange whining, laughter came from the wolfman. “You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“And what happens if your allies call for war against us? Could you ignore the Vampire King and Queen?”

“Look, if you’re going to search for problems, you might as well kill me now and have done with it.”

“Sometimes you just have to take risks. Clover, the prisoner’s yours.”

Clover shouted in delight, leaped onto the dais, and hugged his father. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispered in his ear. 

“You and your damn luck better be right about this,.” James whispered back.

Then he knelt before him and in the ceremonial language said, “I give thanks, my father. May your decision be proved right and true.”

“It’d better be,” he answered gruffly, and began to stroke Zwei.

Clover turned to the guard. “Release the prisoner.” Again a roar of protest went up, but the King nodded his agreement and the bonds were cut. The werewolf stood rubbing his wrists and staring around the hall. The Prince had fought for his life and repaid his mercy. He was suddenly moved by his bravery. There was something in the prince’s fire and fragility that touched him, and as a monarch with more than twenty years’ experience of rule, he knew quality and presence when he saw it. 

This Prince of the human-folk was going to be deeply important in the struggles to come. With a sudden urge to repay Clover’s courage, he strode forward and knelt before him. “By the ever-changing phases of the Blessed Moon, I, Marrow Blood-drinker, King of the Wolf-folk, pledge lifelong friendship to Atlas and its ruler and particularly to Clover Ebi Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield. Your pain is my pain, your joy is my joy, your war is my war!” Then the wolfman threw back his head and let out a long howl.

* * *

Clover led the group deeper into the forest. They’d been riding all morning, exercising some of the horses from the royal stables. It wasn’t really needed but it was a great excuse for getting out of the schoolroom, and he was just happy to be out riding.

But just to the north, there was a storm that had been developing all morning, and now it looked as though it was finally about to break. Clover could see a distant haze of rain, so he decided to give the order to turn back.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a huge animal burst from the trees. It was a Greyling bear, was as tall as a horse, massive, powerful, and quick to anger. It struck at the nearest rider, a stable hand, knocking him from the saddle, while the other horses bolted, snorting in terror.

Clover took control. Snatching a spear from the scabbard on his saddle and couching it like a lance, he charged. The bear turned to face him, and she hit it squarely in the chest, where it stayed. Clover flicked his rabbits foot and then fought back with Kingfisher, inflicting wounds the beast barely registered, luring the bear away from the injured man. Soon the other riders burst back into the glade, shouting as they attacked, distracting the animal from Clover. Two more spears were driven into the bear’s chest, and then Clover thundered in, striking it in the flank. The bear finally fell to the ground dead.

They all dismounted and hurried over to the injured man. His arm was torn open from shoulder to elbow and was bleeding heavily. Quickly the soldiers wrapped a cloak around the wound and tied it in place with cloth torn from their tunics. They helped the wounded man back onto his horse and headed for home. 

Then the rain began and it came down with such force that the path quickly turned into a mini river. Clover decided to ride ahead in the hope of finding shelter for them and the injured man. He was beginning to wonder what else might happen, so he flicked his rabbit’s foot for luck and muttered a quick prayer to the God of Light for guidance. After searching for some unknown amount of time, he was just about to turn back when a lightning bolt knocked him and his horse flat. After regaining his footing, the rest of the party caught up with him. 

“We’d be safer in the clearing, away from the trees,” Clover shouted, and quickly he led them back the way they had just come. Better to get soaked to the skin than struck by lightning. As they rode into the wide glade, ahead of them stood a tall cloaked figure, arms folded neatly,

its head hooded and bowed.  _ What more will I have to face this morning? _ He and the soldiers drew their swords.

One of the soldiers announced, “You stand before Prince Clover Ebi Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, heir to the throne of Atlas. Identify yourself!”

The figure bowed further, then stood and threw back its hood. Clover almost laughed because it was only a young man. Tall, early 20s by his guess, and handsome, nonetheless. 

He wiped the rain out of his eyes with a half smile. “My name’s Qrow Warlock’s Son. Come with me, I can give you shelter.” 

Considering that he and his companions needed help, Clover followed Qrow along the path. Qrow led them to a wide cave mouth set at an angle that was hidden from the path.

“Bring the injured man through this way.” Qrow said and then he led Clover and the soldiers, who half carried their wounded comrade, along a narrow passage. “Put him down there,” Qrow said to the soldiers, pointing to a bed set against one of the walls. They all watched in silence as the Qrow placed a table next to the bed and then moved around the cave gathering various objects. Once he had done this he fetched a stool, sat down, and unwound the cloak that had been used to bandage the man’s arm.

“What are you doing?” Clover asked suspiciously.

Qrow hardly looked up from the mixture of red wine and salt he was preparing in a bowl, but eventually he said, “I’m going to stitch this man’s arm.”

“Stitch his arm?” Clover exploded. “He’s not a piece of torn cloth!”

“No,” Qrow agreed mildly. “But his skin and some of his muscle are torn, and stitching them together again will help it to heal much more quickly.”

Flynt, one of his soldiers said, “My Prince, I know this lad. He’s the son of White Ozpin, the good Warlock who used to live in these parts.”

“So?” Clover said hotly. “Does that give him the right to torture my stable hand?”

“His father was a healer, among other things,” Flynt went on. “And I remember him doing just this when one of the housecarls was injured during weapons training at the palace. She’d stepped the wrong way when she should have dodged, and an ax hacked a chunk of muscle from her leg. She bled badly and would have died for sure, but White Ozpin came and stopped the bleeding, then stitched her leg back together again.”

“Didn’t his wound get the green rot?” he asked.

“No, My Prince, the warlock kept it clean with some liquid, and she was healed. When it was completely better, she didn’t even limp.”

Flynt was a veteran he’d known forever and he trusted his experience. “All right. Then stitch his arm,” she said to Qrow. Clover watched as he washed his hands in more of the red wine. Then he took an oddly curved needle and, with a pair of tongs, held it in the flame of an oil lamp until it glowed red. Clover again wondered about his sanity, especially when he then quenched the needle in the salt and red wine.

“Your soldiers will have to hold him,” Qrow said. “I have no poppy.”

“Poppy!” Clover exploded again.

“What have flowers got to do with it?”

“Poppy is a drug that would have deadened the pain. But I ran out of it a year ago.” He saw Qrow threading the curved needle, then drawing it through a large clove of garlic.

“It helps to stop the green rot,” he explained.

He threw up his hands. “Just get on with it. I don’t want to know any more.”

The stitching of the wound wasn’t easy. It was deep, and even cleaning it with salt and red wine made the stable hand shout and struggle. But at last the wound was neatly dressed and bandaged.

“Leave him now. Healing Nature will do the rest,” Qrow said. “Look, he’s already falling asleep. He’ll soon forget the pain.”

“Well, I’m glad for him. Personally, I think it’s going to be a very long time before I forget that nasty little wrestling match.”

Back in the main cave, Clover sat apart from the others. He’d sent one of them to Solitas to tell the King what had happened, as the rain still came down heavily through the dense canopy of the trees.

Clover watched as Qrow washed his hands and turned to the fire, where he stirred a large cauldron that had been bubbling quietly to itself. The scents that rose from the pot made Clover’s stomach rumble.

“You’ll find some bowls on the trestle by the entrance,” Qrow said. There was a scrambling as they were fetched by the soldiers, and Qrow served everyone. One of the men served Clover first, placing the stew, a rough wooden spoon, and a hunk of bread awkwardly on the hearthstone beside him. 

Clover was obviously trying to impress the healer, so for the time being, etiquette and proper procedure would need to be followed to the letter. He gingerly tasted the stew. It was surprisingly rich, being seasoned with herbs and spices Clover couldn’t identify, and the bread was as good as anything produced by the palace kitchens. 

Qrow walked over to join Clover and he was surprised and annoyed. Royalty were usually left alone to eat, as the other soldiers had done. Not only that, but now he’d have to make conversation and he wasn’t sure she could do so without blushing. His skin seemed to signal everything he was feeling and Qrow was intriguing. 

“Is the stew all right?” Qrow asked, like Clover was no one special.

“Adequate.”

“I suppose the palace kitchens must produce a feast every day.”

“Not every day. But they certainly produce the best food in Atlas.” Qrow was clearly too much of a commoner to understand that he was being way too familiar.

“Naturally.”

Clover wondered if he was being sarcastic, but ignored it, favoring small talk. “The men said you’re the son of White Ozpin, the Warlock. Where is he? Even men with the Power should show respect to the Heir of Atlas.”

“That’s true, but not even Prince Clover can command the presence of the dead. They tend to be deaf to demands for respect.”

“Oh!” he said, blushing and irritated that he sounded insensitive. “I didn’t know.”

Qrow chewed and swallowed. “That’s all right.I know you didn’t mean to be rude.”

“When did he die?” he asked, trying to show proper manners.

“Two years ago.”

“And you’ve lived alone all that time?”

Qrow shrugged. “It wasn’t difficult. My father knew he was dying and taught me all I needed to know before the end.”

“What sort of healer couldn’t heal himself?” Clover regretted the words as soon as he had said them.

Qrow looked at him coldly for a while. “Only the God of Light can cure all disease.”

After that, Clover gave up trying to behave like a prince and just sat in silence while the men ate a second bowl of stew and the rain continued.

“It’ll soon be dark,” Qrow said. “You may have to stay the night.”

“Not possible!” Clover was horrified at the thought of having to stay with the stranger overnight. “We’ve no bedding.”

“There are plenty of blankets in the back cave. Perhaps one of your men can fetch them?”

“The King will expect me back tonight.” He heard the sound of approaching horses, and headed to the cave mouth and watched as an escort of ten cavalry were led along the path by the soldier she’d sent off earlier. His luck was, in fact, with him today. James really did expect him home tonight.

“Gather your things and saddle the horses.” Then to Qrow, he said, “We’ll leave the injured one with you and send a surgeon for him later.”


End file.
